


Day Nineteen: Wearing Formal Clothes (AKA Good Golly Mr. Q)

by a_xmasmurder



Series: 30 Days of OTP: Bond/Q [19]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Anxiety, M/M, Mission Fic, Q's Brain is Dangerous, Suits, formal wear, planes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q's mind is feeding his anxiety, Alec is out shopping, and Bond gets him a present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Nineteen: Wearing Formal Clothes (AKA Good Golly Mr. Q)

**Author's Note:**

> I know as much about suits and bespoke as I do about the mating habits of Tasmanian devils. 
> 
> NIL.
> 
> So, bear with me on this, and don't shoot me. I can't be killed, and you'd only upset me and make me cry.

The Jaguar rolled into a parking stall on Clifford Street, and James threw it into park and shut off the engine. “So, this shouldn’t take too long, and then we are going to get some food before the flight -”

“Ugh, food.” Q winced as he unbuckled, his brain shoving statistics down his throat at the mere thought of aeroplanes. “Food is really not a good idea right now, James, unless you want the detailers to get really upset at you.” His stomach was already protesting everything from the coffee he was holding to the bottle of artesian water Alec had grabbed from the little corner shop.

Alec heaved himself out of the back seat and stalked off down the road in a huff, a slip of paper in his hand and a frustrated frown on his face. James leaned over, offered a smile to Q, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll be there, and so will Alec.” Thankfully, he’d stopped saying that hateful phrase ‘It’ll be fine’ a while ago outside of the shop, because it was not. Fine. And it wouldn’t be fine until his feet were on the ground again in Tel Aviv.

“Benzodiazepine,” Q growled.

“I’ll storm MI6 again and get some for you, how does that sound?”

Q winced. “Not enough time, and since they know it’s for me anyway because you aren't a shriveled ball of nerves, they won’t give it to you. Ugh. Hateful fucking thing.” He pushed the door open and got out. “I’m assuming there will be more intel coming that I will have to sort out on the flight over. I’m also going to assume that they think you and Alec are Neanderthals and can't figure things out on your own.”

Bond grunted. “Urgh. Me want bash heads. Hunt. Fire. Boom. Kill enemy with sharp pointy stick.”

Despite his swirling gut and racing thoughts - _metal fatigue can cause the engine to literally fall off the wing, pilot error accounts for fifty percent of fatal crashes, the 737 has the highest rate of crashes because it is the most widely used aircraft and that is the one we will be taking_ \- Q had to laugh at Bond’s obvious attempt to cheer him up. “Of course. Yes, I forgot that you are indeed a Neanderthal.” They moved away from the car towards Nineteen Clifford Street, the agent linking arms with him and sending a self-assured smirk his way.

“Most of us are, love.”

Q snorted. “Hardly.” _Mechanical error accounts for twenty-two percent of crashes SHUT UP BRAIN JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP NOW._ His free hand shook where it hung at his hip. “When did you get my measurements?”

“You sleep like a rock when you tip over in front of your computer. It was easy, just like playing with a marionette.” James opened the door and waved the younger man in. “Not implying you are a doll.”

“Oh, for the love of - “ Q looked around, recognizing the shop. “Tell me this isn’t -”

“It is. Hello David!” James called across the room, and a small head popped up over a divider.

“Ah, Richard! You're here. Hello!” David sauntered around the wall and walked up to them. “And this is your friend Evan.” He held out a hand, a measuring tape wrapped around his wrist. “I’m David, obviously. Welcome!” The tailor ushered them both back behind the wall.

Q froze at the sight of the mirrors and the one suit, hanging off of a mannequin with notes scattered around it. David smiled up at him - such a short man - and gestured forward with one hand. “Go on, step up there and we’ll have a look at you, Evan.” He pressed lightly between Q’s shoulderblades and turned to Bond. “Richard, you haven’t been here in a while. You look like you lost some weight. We should get that grey one re-fitted when you have the time.”

Q turned his head as he stepped onto the little footstool, and looked right at Bond. “What...do I do, here?”

“Oh, we have a rack browser here, don’t we?” David tutted. “We will cure you of that here very soon, I should think! Arms out.”

Q obeyed, still staring at the agent. “I thought you said I was already measured?”

“Oh, just a double check, here, won’t take much time at all.”

The hacker squawked as David reached up between his legs, and the man tutted at him. “Relax, Evan.” Q nearly snapped at him, telling the short and hyperactive man that he could take a flying leap, but the word flying just brought his anxiety right back up into his mind, and he could feel his left eye start to twitch. _God, I’m going to make a complete fool out of myself in front of Bond’s bloody tailor_ \- his brain supplied recent pictures of a plane crash in America, and he slammed his eyes shut. _Fuck. I. Hate. Flying. So. Much. Okay, calm down. Calm down, relax, enjoy the fact that someone just asked you to take your clothes off. Wait._

“Hold on. What did you say?” Q blinked at David.

“You need to put the suit on so we can start the fitting. Let’s see how correct Richard was with your numbers.”

Q stepped down and watched the tailor take the soft-looking suit off the human analogue, a light grey thing with a dark blue kerchief in the pocket, single-breasted and utterly _not_ for him. He winced slightly and looked at Bond, who was watching with no small amount of interest. Sighing, Q divested himself of his work attire, his cardigan and trousers going off into a heap on the floor. He hesitated with his shirt and tie, though, but David tsked again. “No no, take it all off. I’ve got a shirt for you, and we are getting rid of that tie.”

Q looked down at it as he took it off. “It’s a perfectly good tie.”

“Not a chance. You need something different. Forget the tie. It’s no longer here.” David snatched the fabric from Q’s fingers and tossed it behind him. “Shirt, now. Might get rid of that too, it has a hole in it.”

“Well, _someone_ went and ruined my good one.” Q stared at Bond and mouthed ‘It’s your fault’, and the agent had the audacity to snicker at him. In short order, a dark shirt and a tie the same colour of the suit was shoved into his hands, and he was instructed to put the ensemble on. He did so quickly, because the room was cold and he didn’t fancy standing around in his pants the whole time. Bond walked over and did up Q’s new silk tie into a Windsor knot, then scrunched his nose.

“I don’t think I like the tie, David.”

The tailor cocked his head and nodded. “I agree. Take it off, and go pick one you like." James walked out of the little alcove again, leaving Q at the mercy of his tailor. "I’ll give you a couple different shirts to go with this ensemble, Evan.” He plucked at the lapels, and buttoned the front. Q grimaced, feeling stuffy and very not himself, not comfortable. David seemed to be happy, though. “Very nice. Fits well, only a slight adjustment needed for your legs and arms, and your waist on the trousers can be brought in a bit. Alright, get out of those, and I’ll make the adjustments.” David made the necessary notes on a small pad and nodded. “Time is wasting.”

Q grumbled as he dragged himself back out of the clothes, and David shouted over his shoulder at Bond. “Richard, go ahead and pick a new shirt out for yourself. The one you are wearing is looking a bit done.”

“It is, thank you." A pause, then, "Oh, perfect. You’re back from your adventure. Any more of those stupid jumpsuits or whatever those were?” 

 _Alec must be back from the shops, then._ Q handed the suit over to David “Kigurumis,” he muttered under his breath, a smile teasing his lips as he remembered that particular day.

“No, but I did find some comfortable things for the flight.”

Q wanted to put his head through the wall. _Fuck!_  Every time he was close to forgetting about the bloody fucking plane he’d be boarding in two hours...Q groaned and reached out over the divider for one of the bags. “Andrew, I could use some clothing here.”

Alec looked over. “He’ll be done in five, ten minutes tops.”

“At least sweats?” Q whined. “Tell me you got me bed clothes, too.”

“Fine, but only because I like you, and you haven’t tried to blow me up yet.” He winked at Bond and rummaged in Q’s bag, snagging the grey sweats. “You are spoiled, you know that?”

“I’m not used to -” Q caught himself before he said _fieldwork_. “ - going around with you guys. Normally I handle the electronic parts at the office.”

“Oh, we are going on a business trip then?” David’s voice wafted from a worktable in the corner.

“Is there any other kind?” Alec grunted. “We are headed to Spain. Lovely country, really green this time of year. I can’t wait to see our new clients.”

“I hope they will be as amenable as our last ones.”

Q stayed silent and listened to the two Double Os lie through their teeth. _I’m horrid at lying. Really bloody horrid. I’m going to blow their cover, and then everything will blow up in our faces, and_ -

“Evan, come over here and try this on.”

Q turned and looked at David. “Um...I just got out of it, how are you done already...?”

“Nevermind that. Put those things down and come over here already!” The excitable tailor pulled and prodded Q over and pushed the suit at him again. “Put it on.”

After a very put-upon sigh that he made certain that the two agents could hear, he slipped the suit back on, tucked in the shirt he was still wearing...and stopped. _Oh. My. Lord._ The small - miniscule, as far as he was concerned - adjustments...It no longer felt like he was wearing a restrictive, boring suit. No, he wasn’t just _wearing_ it. It felt like it was moulded to him. He took a breath, momentarily shocked into silence. David stood in front of him and beamed, positively radiant in his happiness.

“So, what do you think? Richard told me you weren’t a normal suit and tie sort, that you liked darker colours and favoured clothing that accented your frame. You are very streamlined and thin.” David circled Q, his sharp eyes roving over the Quartermaster’s whole body. “We decided on the lighter grey for the main piece because of your eye colour and complexion. The dark shirt and pocket insert goes well with the suit, I think. This is more of an everyday style, something you can wear to work and be comfortable in since it is fitted to you. Pair this with an exciting shade of suede brogues, tie optional. You already have an excellent sense of style, considering your hair and glasses - which, brilliant choice on those, by the way. They frame your angular face in a way most people would be afraid to try.” He paused in front of Q, hands held up to his face, and seemed to ponder Q’s left pectoral. “And you can dress it up a bit with a good silk tie and black wing-tips, and onyx cufflinks.” The man gestured out to the main area. ”He’s set aside a couple pairs of shoes for you, as well, he said.”

Q blinked at him owlishly, still in a state of disbelief. “Oh? When?”

“I believe he had this in mind when he called about a suit, to be honest, because that’s when he mentioned the shoes. He told me you needed some good clothes, that you deserved them.”

 _Damn it, James. Damn it all._ Q suddenly felt ten years old and very shy. “Oh. Well. Um.”

“Here. Wear these.” David pushed a pair of shiny brown dress shoes into Q’s hands. “Already paid for, just left here for you.” He smiled up at Q.

“Alright?” Q blinked down at them, then lowered himself to the floor to shove them onto his feet. David laughed.

“Oh, I can tell you are going to get some use out of that suit, Evan.”

“Oh! Shit, sorry, so - so sorry!” He tried to scramble back to his feet, but a chuckle from the other side of the divider stopped him.

“Evan, it’s fine! David knows that I tend to be a bit...rough with my clothes, and he’s used to it.” Bond’s voice drifted around the corner, along with Alec’s snort of amusement. “You sitting on the floor to put on shoes isn’t even on his list of things not to do in a suit...” He rounded the divider and stopped dead. “Oh, _Evan_.”

Q still had his fingers tangled in the shoelaces, unerringly tying them up without even looking as he locked eyes with Bond, mentally running through the list of everything that could possibly be wrong with what he was wearing and how disappointed the agent - who was style personified - would be with him...His mind ground to a halt when he finally noticed that Bond seemed to have lost forward momentum, his train of thought, and control over his jaw.

“J - Richard?” He cursed his inability to remember even the slightest details when his agent - his boyfriend - was staring at him like he was the most delectable piece of sashimi on the plate. And yes, his mind just went back to that night in Tokyo, right after the impromptu mission, when they’d fed each other sushi while relaxing in the hot tub...naked. Fuck planes. Fuck suits. Fuck...wait. No, do not fuck suits, because Q realised why he was being stared at like that. He finished the other shoe and stood very slowly, as smoothly and cat-like as he could. “Richard, are you alright?” He wanted to say that he purred that sentence out, but he wasn’t sure. He could barely hear himself past the sudden rush of his pulse in his ears.

“Oh, Jesus.” Bond blinked at him. The rest of him stayed very, very still. “Fuck.” He was breathing, Q could see he was still breathing. That was good. But there was no other movement. He wanted to walk over and see if Bond was actually fine, or if he would need assistance. But then James was in motion. Three steps brought him face to face with Q, and the agent reached out with both hands and stroked over the shoulders of the suit. “Soft. This is you. This...oh, I want to peel you out of this and...fuck, I can’t even think right now!” His hands move lightly over the fabric, his eyes never leaving Q’s. “You look absolutely fantastic.”

“Oh.” Q could barely breathe, even as he preened slightly under the attention. “Thank you.” He smiled, probably for the first time since he got this assignment. “You do too.” _Wait, not what I wanted to say, what did I want to say?_ “Thank you.” _I already said that!_ “Um...you got me shoes too?” _I fucking give up._

Bond laughed and bent slightly at the waist to rest his forehead against Q’s. “Yes. It’s a gift. Late birthday gift. Or early.” He pursed his lips. “I don’t remember.” He shrugged and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “Does it matter?”

“Um.” Q blinked some more. “I think I might love you.” _Oh SHIT. Shit shit shit._ “Um.” _Okay, just take deep breaths, you can save this, don’t take it back, just laugh it off like you meant it as a thank you..._

“Oh, good.” James’s grin grew, then faltered a bit, then strengthened again as a light sparked behind his eyes. “I’m not the only one who’s terrified,” he whispered against Q’s skin.

“Ah.” _And if that is the most intelligent fucking thing you can think of right now, when a heart is suddenly laid open in front of you, I swear to all that is holy and good in this world I will fucking kill you, brain. I will scoop you out and use you as target fucking practise and be a aubergine for the rest of my miserable fucking life._ “Shall we go, then?” _FUCK._ Q wanted to die.

James chuckled and pressed a kiss against Q’s neck. “Shawarma?”

“Food bad. But I could probably go for a beer.” _So we aren’t going to talk about it. Alright._

“Good. I’m starving. Andrew!” Bond turned his head. “We are going for shawarma, and you have got to see Evan in this!”

  
  



End file.
